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air and started to chug. There were a few more guys from the

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football team gathered around, and though they seemed happy

to see me, none of them came over. I was used to that these days.

No one seemed to know what to say.

Though I caught a few looks that landed on Monroe and

didn’t leave. Bill Ferris gave a long, low wolf whistle which

Monroe ignored.

We reached the fire, and Monroe tugged her hand from

mine. It was the right call. I mean, already a couple of girls who ran in Rachel’s crowd were staring her down, but still, it felt

good holding her hand.

She
felt good. Steady. Real.

And that was pretty screwed up, considering I didn’t think she

liked me all that much, and technically, I still had a girlfriend.

I decided not to think about it too much. I decided that

tonight I was gonna push all the crap out of my head and maybe

have a good time. Or at least try to.

I’d been closed off from everyone for so long that it felt weird

to see some of the old crowd hanging out near the fire, including Brent, the bassist in my band.

I thought he’d gone up to the cottage with Link and Rachel

and the others, so it was a surprise to see him here.

He was shirtless, with his beige cargos hung so low I hoped

he’d at least taken the time to pull on a pair of boxers. You see, Brent had a trigger. An old Def Leppard song, “Foolin’,” that

was his dad’s favorite song, and whenever he heard it, if he was

drunk enough, off came his clothes.

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The girls didn’t seem to mind too much, and us guys just

thought he was crazy as shit. Brent was also one hell of a wide

receiver and, as quarterback, my go- to when we played. He had

nimble fingers for catching my passes and made the bass sound

melodic in a way that not many players could.

His face made me thinks of things I wanted to forget, but I

couldn’t lie.

It was good to see him.

“Dude,” he said with a slow grin, grabbing my shoulders

tightly as he shook me. “Where you been hiding yourself?”

We hadn’t jammed once since the accident. Hell, I hadn’t

picked up my guitar since our last gig. And it wasn’t that we

couldn’t or didn’t want to. It’s just…without Trevor, the band

was dead. It was like the soul, the groove, and the life were gone, sleeping beside him in that hospital bed.

“I’ve been working for my uncle.”

“Every damn day? That sucks.”

For a moment, his bright blue eyes shadowed and he stood

back, rubbing the day- old stubble along his jaw. It wasn’t stubble so much as peach fuzz, and it was something I used to razz him

about a lot.

Except I didn’t feel much like razzing.

“You seen Trev?” he asked carefully.

I nodded but didn’t elaborate. I wasn’t about to tell him

that Mike Lewis had just threatened to kick my ass all over the

hospital. It was a small town. I’m sure he’d hear it soon enough.

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“I stopped in a few weeks back but he just…” Brent’s voice

was subdued.

A heartbeat passed. Then another.

“Yeah, I know.”

Brent’s eyes quickly slid from me to Monroe and the moment

passed. He winked at her. “New blood? What’s your name, gorgeous?”

“Monroe,” she answered.

Brent’s grin widened even more and he bent over at the waist.

“Nice to meet you, Monroe. Y’all don’t sound like you’re from

around here.”

“I’m not.”

“So where’re you from, sugar?” His eyes moved over her

from head to toe, and something inside me tightened. I nearly

stepped forward but caught myself in time. I wanted to shove

him the hell away from her, and that was wrong. Monroe didn’t

belong to me. Shit, I barely knew the girl.

“I’m from New York City, and my name’s not Sugar.”

He snorted. “Your name might not be Sugar but I bet you

taste real sweet.”

Monroe made a weird noise in the back of her throat, and I

was surprised to see a hint of a smile on her face. “That’s lame.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Brent chuckled, his eyes moving from

Monroe back to me, and I saw the question there. Brent was

a player. Big time. I narrowed my eyes in warning. There was

no way he was going there with this girl. Mrs. Blackwell would

have my butt in a sling.

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Brent was all about getting laid, which was pretty much the

one thing most guys I knew thought about every single day. But

him? Girls had been throwing themselves at him since he was

twelve, and the ones who fell for his lame ass lines deserved what they got.

But Monroe was different. And she didn’t know him like I did.

“So, Monroe,” Brent said carefully, cocking his head. “You

want something to drink?”

She shook her head. “I’m driving.”

“Right.” Brent looked at me. “That means you’re not.” He

grabbed a can from his back pocket and tossed it my way.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of guitars.”

I popped the can open and took a long swig. The beer was

lukewarm and not my favorite brand, but whatever, it was some-

thing to drink. Something to hold onto. Something to keep my

hands busy.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Monroe said carefully,

cocking her head to the side in a way that made a chunk of that

dark tangled hair fall over her face.

I took another long drink and then wiped my mouth. “I’m

not sure of anything right now.”

For a moment, I thought I saw a small smile lift the corners

of her mouth. I blinked and it was gone.

“Are you going to play for me?” she asked. Her eyes glistened,

little sparks from the fire reflected in their depths.

“Yo, Nate.”

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The three of us turned as Chuck McDaniel strolled over with

his girlfriend, Gina. I’d seen them earlier, at the festival, and wasn’t surprised they had ended up out here. It’s not like there

was much else to do on Saturday night in Twin Oaks.

Gina’s eyes narrowed on Monroe, her glossy lips pulled tight

in a fake smile as she flexed her claws.

“Where’s Rach?” she asked, though her eyes never quite made

it to my face.

“Not here,” I answered.

“I can see that.” She snapped her gum and smiled. “And who

are you exactly?” That was for Monroe.

“No one,” Monroe answered, before tugging on my arm.

“Are you going to play for me?”

“Come on, Everets. What’s a party without some tunes?”

Brent said.

“I don’t know, man. I haven’t picked up in forever.” I took

another long swig of beer and then crushed the can before

shoving my hands into my front pockets. “I’ve probably lost my

calluses, and knowing the way you’ve got your action rigged, my

fingers will kill tomorrow.”

“Pussy,” Brent laughed. “Get your ass over here.”

He was near the fire and Monroe was two steps behind him.

For a second, my eyes rested on her perfect round ass. On the

way her hair swung down her back and how cute her feet looked

with her green toes.

She turned, ignoring all the curious stares, and looked directly

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at me. For that one moment, it felt as if she was looking into my soul and she knew how badly I wanted to play.

“I want to hear you, Nate.” Her voice was soft, so soft, like a

whisper inside my head.

“Sugar, if you sweet- talked me up like that, I’d do anything

you wanted,” Brent said with a laugh as he bent closer to

her. “Anything.”

He turned to me and held out a beat- up Epiphone. Trevor’s

beat- up Epiphone.

“He’d want you to play, man.” Gone was the laughter from

Brent’s face. “You need to play.”

I stared at the guitar for so long that my eyes blurred, and

when they began to sting, I knew this had been a bad idea. I

should never have come here.

“No,” I said, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets before

I turned away from them. “It’s not gonna happen.”

I walked back toward Monroe’s car and let the darkness slide

over me.

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I dreamt about Malcolm, which was something I hadn’t done

in months.

And sure, I should have seen it coming after my hospital

visit— I didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know it would

trigger all the bad things I’d been trying to forget— but still…I wasn’t ready.

I wasn’t ready to see his wavy blond hair touching tanned

skin, or that one long piece that always fell over his eyebrow. I wasn’t ready for the freckles along the bridge of his nose, so light they appeared to be sprinkles of cinnamon. Or his long lashes

and the way they licked the tops of his cheeks when his eyes

were closed. It hurt to see his dimple, the birthmark just under

his collarbone, and the way it felt as if I was his entire world

when he looked at me.

I wasn’t ready for any of it, and that’s why I woke up with

screams in my throat, wiping sweat from my brow, my teeth

clenched so tightly I was sure I’d ground them down another layer.

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The ache in my heart felt like it was crushing me from

the inside out, and for a few moments, I lay there shaking,

sobbing quietly. I stuffed my fist into my mouth because it

was late, or rather it was early in the morning, and I didn’t

want to wake Gram.

She didn’t need to see me like this. Weak and broken. I knew

she had hope. Hope that I’d come out of this summer ahead,

maybe part- way whole.

I also knew that her hope was false, but I didn’t want to

crush it.

The panic, though, was real, and I knew the drill so I counted

backward, starting at twenty. I had to do it more than once or

twice even, and when I was finally calm— when the breath didn’t

catch in my chest and the pain had eased up a bit— sunlight was

creeping into my room.

But it was hours before I left it.

• • •

We were on the porch, and I had just sat down beside Gram,

sliding my feet beneath me as I curled into the white wicker

chair. I stared down at my pink- and- white checker pajama

shorts, noticing syrup had dripped from my morning pancakes

onto the white T- shirt. I scraped it off with my finger, sucked it from the tip, and waited a few seconds to answer. Not because

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it was a trick question or anything, but because I hadn’t called

home and I didn’t particularly
want
to call home, and I knew Gram was going to make me.

I focused on the honeysuckle climbing the trellis at the side

of the house and the bees buzzing among them.

“I tried earlier but got Mom’s voicemail, so I left a message.”

The white lie slipped out and I kept my gaze on the honeysuckle.

Gram’s eyes rested on me for a few seconds, and I knew she

wasn’t fooled. “Well, if she hasn’t returned your call in a few

hours, try again. I know your mother doesn’t always check her

voicemail. You’ve been here over a week now. You need to talk

to them. They’ll worry.”

“I emailed Mom yesterday.”

“Bah,” Gram said. “That email will be the death of society as

we know it. It’s not the same, Monroe.”

“I know,” I mumbled. “I’ll call them tonight.”

The truth of it was, talking to my parents was hard. So

freaking hard. And right now, I liked not having anything hard

in my day- to- day business. I hadn’t realized how difficult it was for me to
breathe
in New York until I’d come to Louisiana.

“So,” I said, chewing on my bottom lip, “Nate told me

about Trevor.”

I didn’t volunteer that we had actually gone to the hospital— I

figured that wasn’t mine to share— but I was curious to see what

Gram would say.

She settled back in her wicker chair, sipped her tea, and said,

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“Good, that boy needs to talk to someone. What happened that

night was an awful shame, but it’s in the past.” She glanced at

me sharply. “And the past can’t be undone but we can surely do

our best to move forward and learn from our mistakes.”

My cheeks smarted at her meaning because I knew she was

talking about me as well. I tucked a long piece of hair behind

my ear and tried to think of something else besides the pathetic

past I’d left in New York.

“Nathan’s a good boy who made a bad decision, but he’ll be

fine. He’s just hit a rough patch.”

Huh. I thought of the scene I’d witnessed the night before,

and in my mind, Nathan Everets had hit more than just a